I Carry Your Heart With Me (I Carry it In)
by Maripics
Summary: "You're fired, end of the broadcast. Please don't tell anyone." He says, leaning over her desk. He spent the rest of the night regretting every single one of these words. Set post 2x08, spoiler-filled. Rated T for language.
1. Fog

**I Carry Your Heart With Me (I Carry it In) **

**Chapter One: Fog**

The box she was holding was way too small for the amount of meaning it contained. Tiny mementos of happier days, from her ACN name plate to a souvenir Maggie brought from Uganda, every one of those trinkets held a part of her life – even her career – that she didn't want to forget. Those knick-knacks were representations of friends, colleagues, family, warmth, _love._ Perhaps it was idiotic to hold on to those memories – they weren't likely to bring anything but grief, but Mac was the kind of girl to hold on to the simplest of reminders.

Maybe it was the fact that the thermostat was set to sixty degrees. Or perhaps it was the fact that her body was completely drained, Mac was freezing. Her temperature had gone insanely down, and she was fairly certain she was going to be sick.

But it didn't matter. She just had to finish packing her stuff and she'd be off, God knows where to. She was certainly not getting any job offers. Nonetheless, she was relieved to just go away. Away from the staff, the newsroom, Will… she just needed to escape.

The elections were insane, unsurprisingly. They called Obama as the winner just a few minutes after one, and the staff pretty much cleared out after that. Most of them to celebrate the win, some of them to complain, some to simply drown their Genoa-induced sorrows. It was rather bitter, rather sad, and so bloody infuriating. They didn't deserve the shit that came down on them. Most of them had just started their careers. They fucked up, but they didn't deserve so much crap.

The last bauble she packed was a lighter. It wasn't really hers, but in all fairness, Will had plenty of money to buy himself a new one. She hoped he wouldn't mind, but deep down, she didn't care. She needed something to remind her of him.

So there she was, standing in the middle of her office in the early November 7th morning, wondering where the hell she was supposed to go next. She'd have plenty of time to think about it later, when she was back at her apartment, unemployable and useless. She let out a long sigh and turned off the lights, holding the glass door with her left foot. She turned around and stepped out, holding the box close to her chest.

She could see that Will was still in his office. The lights were out, but she could see a large shadow and a tiny spot of orange light, probably coming from a cigarette. She thought about going over to say goodbye, but ultimately decided against it. It was the end of the road for them.

X-X-X-X-X-X

She stared fixatedly at the glass window in front of her bed. The New York skyline was mildly covered by a thin layer of soft fog, but she could see the flickering lights of a town that was just waking up. It was bittersweet really, because Mac was smart enough to understand that there was nothing left for her in New York. Maybe she could go back to Atlanta and beg Christiane Amanpour for a job. They were kind of friends, after all. Or maybe she could go to Philadelphia and talk to David Wood. He liked her, didn't he? Perhaps she should go to NBC. Steve Capus was an old acquaintance. No she wouldn't crawl. Mackenzie Morgan McHale was too proud for that. Damn that forte.

Eventually, she'd have to cave to the pressure and just start fresh somewhere else. Maybe go back to Pakistan. Maybe go to a completely exotic place, like Brazil, or India. Or perhaps she should just go back home. Yeah. She should go back home.

X-X-X-X-X-X

There's nothing more nerve-wrecking than the JFK airport on a Friday night. She really didn't think that plan through, because she was standing in the middle of the airport, toting eighty pounds of luggage, tired and in heels. The only comforting thing was that she'd land in Heathrow in less than ten hours, and maybe, just maybe, she could crawl inside her mother's arms and sob her eyes out. Just a little while longer.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Will feared it was too late. Jim had told him her flight would leave at eleven, and it was half past nine already. He was too fucking old for that, he thought, as he ran through the glass doors and into the airport.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He said, after bumping into a tiny old Asian lady.

He just kept running, dropping an array of "sorrys" and "excuse-mes" as he went, wondering if he's end up in the papers the next day. He couldn't care less. The waiting lounge was packed, and he'd been looking around for a good five minutes before he finally spotted her.

She was in a dark purple jumper and grey slacks, and he could see the black patent pumps on her feet. Her hair was up in a relaxed ponytail, soft strands of straight hair framing her face. She was watching something on her iPad, smiling at the screen every so often. It wasn't hard to stand by the statement that she was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

Each step he took in her direction was hard, and the ever-easy task of keeping himself together had proven itself a difficulty. She looked up at him before he got to her, the misty look of sadness, anger, happiness, relief and about a thousand other feelings penetrating his soul. He scrunched down in front of her, his gaze uninterrupted.

"Don't go away." He pleaded, softly. His voice was raspy and low, and she could tell he'd smoked too many cigarettes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, pressing the power button and placing the iPad on her lap.  
"Jim told me you're going back to London." He said "I came here to stop you." He continued "I want us to fight, Mac. I want to fight for us."

His words were interrupted by a nasally voice echoing through the speakers, startling them both.

"Flight 182, final destination Heathrow airport in London, England, all first class passengers may now board."

"That's me." She said, gathering her bags, coat and various trifles and standing up.

"What…"

"I'm sorry, Billy. I have no fight left in me." She said, her voice breaking "Goodbye."

He couldn't gather enough strength to beg her to stay. He didn't even know how he managed to get up from the floor. But Will McAvoy wasn't a quitter, and his mind could barely accompany his racing feet. He marched over to the British Airways' selling stand, and without really thinking, he asked the man behind the counter for a seat in the next flight to London.

"The next flight to London leaves in four hours, sir." The man said, with a smile.

"Is there any way I can get into the flight that's being boarded now?"  
"I'm afraid not, sir. We require a two-hour prior check-in to international flights."

Will ran both his hands through his face, wondering if getting there four hours later would kill his chances. He hoped to God not.

"I want a ticket."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Mac looked out the window, rubbing her hands together. She couldn't tell for sure, but she was pretty certain that they were over the ocean. Perhaps the Celtic sea, or something. She wished she knew how to operate the screen on her seat, just so she could know exactly how much time remained until she got home. She was still in a semi-astonished state, given Will's most recent stunt. Fuck him, she thought. He had no right to play her like that. But, curse the Gods, she was in love with him, and whether or not she meant it as a joke, she really did want to snog him. Yeah, apparently, that was the raw truth. Regardless of her lack of desire to give in to the need she had to just scream bloody murder and tell him she was still very much in love with him, that was the reality, and she was certain she wouldn't be able to last a month without him.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Will had flown to London at least twenty times. A couple of times when he was still a prosecutor, a dozen times over his career to cover a story, once to meet Mac's parents, and another handful of times during the Olympics. He didn't mind it too much, but he didn't like it either. He'd always enjoyed traveling, but he wasn't crazy about the obsession with soccer (he didn't care. Football was something else entirely), the hustle of the tube, or London Crap Days. But like most things in his life, he just didn't care. New York was fine, London was fine, Tokyo, Ottawa, it didn't fucking matter. He'd move to fucking Pyongyang if Mackenzie came along, he really would. It was pretty clear to him then, he'd follow her to the ends of the Earth. It reminded him of Plato's _The Symposium, _particularly that damn passage in which he said that humans were created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two face, but Zeus feared their power and split them in two, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. He felt halved alright, and it'd taken him too damn long to accept that. Did he really have to lose her to realize he couldn't live without her?

X-X-X-X-X-X

Mac stared blankly at the ceiling in her old room. It was still suited for a teenage girl, and the sweet smell of strawberries combined with the handful of boy band posters made Mac feel oddly safe. She was fucking shattered, but there was something about the warm feeling of her parents' home that gave her an "everything's going to be fine" feeling. She hadn't moved or checked her phone in a while, but the fading sun indicated that it was somewhere around mid-afternoon. Her mum and her dad, or Maureen and Martin, as they preferred, were worried, but giving her plenty of space. Maureen had brought her a cup of tea and Martin had offered her the newspaper, to which she just shook her head and curled up further into a little ball. She could hear some clattering, probably Maureen putting together a casserole, and the ring of the doorbell. She really hoped her parents would let the person up, because she was in no shape to receive visitors.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Will arrived at the McHale's at half past four. The plane ride had worn him out, and he really wished he had some clean clothes and razor. But he was on a mission, and he didn't care. The house looked exactly like he remembered. A pretty, upper-class traditional manor, with a large mahogany door and a wide range of trees surrounding it. It was idyllic, and tragic, and exactly what you'd expect.

He rang the doorbell nervously, hoping someone would answer quickly. Martin was the one to open the door, and his mouth dropped open the second he saw Will.

"William."

"Mr. McHale, hello." He greeted "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, but I really need to talk to Mackenzie." He said "Is she here?"

"She is." Martin said, calmly "But she doesn't want to see anyone right now."

"Martin, please." Will asked, tears forming in the corner of her eyes "I followed her here from New York, please just let me see her."

Martin let out a sigh, stepping aside and allowing Will to step inside the house.

"She's upstairs, in her bedroom."

"Thank you." Will said, hurrying down the hall and up the stairs.

He found Mackenzie lying in her bed, looking smaller than ever, her back to the door.

"Mac." He said.

She turned around in a quick motion, her swollen face going from absurdly sad to ridiculously shocked.

"What are…"

"I love you." He said, from the doorframe "I love you and I have enough fight in me for both of us."

**Author's Note: Election Night, Part I killed me, and this was the result. I hope you enjoy this and please review! **

**Ps. It's not a one-shot! Chapter two should be up before Friday. **


	2. Requiem

Chapter Two: Requiem

_So we'll go no more a-roving_

_So late into the night_

_Though the heart be still as loving_

_And the moon be still as bright_

_For the sword outwears its sheath_

_And the soul outwears the breast_

_And the heart must stop to breathe_

_And love itself have rest_

_Though the night was made for loving_

_And the day returns too soon_

_Yet we'll go no more a-roving_

_By the light of the moon_

_So We'll Go No More A-Roving, Lord Byron_

X-X-X-X-X-X

March 1st,_ 2006_

_Manhattan, New York_

_7:51 PM_

_ACN Building_

"_Mac!" Don calls. He's a skinny type, with thick-framed glasses and a much too wide collection of flannel shirts. Mac hired him as an intern out of spite – they needed an intern, she was mad at Will, Don was exactly the kind that annoyed him, that sort of thing. He was a good one, but Mac could tell he was one of those with the weak minds. One of those who'd make Holden Caulfield puke and utter the words 'phony' and 'sonofabitch' seven times in two sentences. But she liked him, and she was determined to make him an incredible journalist. _

"_Yeah?" she responded, abating her earpiece slightly. _

"_MSNBC has a report saying George Bush was warned that the levees in New Orleans could break before hurricane Katrina hit."_

"_What?" _

"_He was warned a couple days before."_

"_Shit. Has anyone called it yet?"_

"_The New York Times has it online and the video is available on the AP."_

_Mac sighed. "Levi, get me the video and the New York Times report. Put it in the prompter." She said "Will." She called "NYT is saying Bush knew the levees could break before Katrina hit. Call it after you finish what you're saying. The report from the Times is on the prompter right now. Tap your pen if you understand me."_

_Will tapped his pen slowly, allowing his guest to finish his sentence and then cutting him off._

"_Alright, thank you, Mr. Quinn." He smiled "Now, we have a video showing that President Bush was warned about the breakage of the levees in New Orleans a couple of days before Katrina hit." _

"_Don, do we have a statement?" Mac asked, as the video played on the screen._

"_A handful of them, all from the white house."_

"_Give Levi the most important one, prompt it and go see if you can get anyone to speak directly to us." _

"_Don't you wanna approve it first?" Don asked, shyly. _

"_I don't have the time for that right now, just do it!" Mac said, watching the final seconds of the video._

"_A house republican issued a statement saying 'the Democrats are using the video to falsely attack the White House's Katrina response. It's a travesty.'" Will said "It really is. Alright, this is News Night for March 1__st__, 2006. I'm Will McAvoy, Gabriel Harrison is coming up next with the Capitol Report, good night." _

"_And, we're clear." Levi said, yanking his earbud off._

"_Good job, guys." Mac told them, patting Don on the back as she left the room. _

_Will got up from his chair, picking up a stack of papers from the table and heading towards the door. _

"_You were great." Mac said, entering the room. "Very handsome."_

"_Yeah?" he asked, walking closer "I was feeling not so pretty today, so thank you for that." He mocked._

"_Tosser." She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist. God, she loved doing that. She almost couldn't – her arms were tiny and Will is not a small man – but she just adored feeling so close to him. _

"_You were great, too." He told her, bringing his lips to her forehead._

"_I know that."_

"_Care to join me for a drink, Miss McHale?"_

"_I care deeply, Mr. McAvoy." She said "Lead the way."_

March 2nd _2006_

_Manhattan, New York_

_2:19 PM_

_Will's Apartment_

_Mac adjusted her glasses, studying a Washington Post article meticulously. Will loved how she did that, concentrated on the smallest of tasks as if they were a brain surgery. That's what makes her so great, he always thought. _

_He looked down at the book in his hands, a worn out copy of Emma – Mac's copy – open on page 268. He was reading it for the third, maybe fourth time, just so he could discuss it with her. She knew the whole goddamn book by heart – it was her favorite – and he really enjoyed teasing her about the corniest passages. _

"_I cannot make speeches, Emma." He read, aloud, causing Mac to stop reading and look at him "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more._ _But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it." He finished "I cannot make speeches, Mac." He concluded, dropping the book on his lap. _

"_No?"_

"_Maybe if I loved you less."_

X-X-X-X-X-X

Mac thought about it rather often. Will had said he loved her for the first time with words borrowed from Jane Austen, and it couldn't have been more perfect. She often thought about how she responded – with a throaty 'Oh Billy, I do too – and had a long crying session over the whole exchange. She'd lost him. Fucking lost him, because she just _had _to fuck Brian Brenner.

But now he was standing on her old bedroom's doorframe, looking worn-out and so very determined, and something about those memories just felt different. They seemed different, distant, unclear. They felt like they were part of the life they once shared, not the life she wanted to share with him right then. They'd grown up, and those memories didn't belong to them anymore. They belonged to a faraway past, one with incredible memories and painful ones. A past she wished they could just forget.

Regardless of past dialogues and old futilities, he was there, then, and he wanted to be with her again. It was his turn to ask for a second chance.

"Will…" she murmured, sitting up on the bed "You followed me here?"

"Yeah. I won't let you go again, Mac." He said "I can't."

"Come here." She demanded, pulling the pink blanket over her body. "Come."

Will walked towards the bed and sat on it, bringing his left hand to cup her cheek.

"I love you, Billy." She told him "I never stopped loving you." She said "There hasn't been a second in which I didn't regret my mistakes, cursed my juvenile mind, or felt like I gave up the only fucking person in the planet who has the ability to make me happy. But for the past three years, I fought for you. For us. And now, I just need to be forgiven. I deserve to be forgiven."

Will wiped the single tear that rolled down her cheek, and leaned over to whisper something in her ear "I forgive you, Mac. I forgive you."

Mac crushed her lips into his, maintaining a firm grip on his waist.

"Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than wise." He said "Jane has a way with her words."

"You read it again?"

"I read it every night since we split." Will said "Emma was the last part of you I still had."

"I'm sorry."  
"No, no." he said, pulling her legs to his lap "I'm done with sorry. I think we're in for a new word."

"Mmm?" she murmured "I like happy."

"Happy it is."

"She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy." Mac said, and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Happy."

**Author's Note: That's a fluffy one. Geez, I'm kind of ashamed to put it on. But I said Friday, and I am a woman of word (that sounds nice, doesn't it?). I hope you guys like Jane Austen. And Lord Byron. And J.D. Salinger. Or not. Could you be really kind and leave a review! Thanks! **


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